


Life In Hogwarts

by herrDoktorat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24359305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herrDoktorat/pseuds/herrDoktorat
Summary: Growing up in Hogwarts is harder than you'd think.
Kudos: 6





	1. Bed, Bath and Beyond

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series of drabbles about the Hogwarts Mystery protagonist, meant to take place in between the major story beats and show another side to the Hogwarts student life. Each chapter takes place in a different year, up to Year 6 since that's where the game is right now.

**YEAR 1**

Andrew wasn't sure what to expect when he walked into the first year bathroom. Sure, he'd taken baths with his brother when he was little, but other than that he had never even changed out of his trousers in front of anyone, and had even asked Rowan to turn around when they had to change into their robes in the Hogwarts Express. Their Prefect had been quite clear, however: they were to shower, change into their pyjamas, and go to bed.

They _were_ smelly, he had to admit; being cooped up inside a train all day and then climbing crazy stairways that moved did that to you.

He'd walked in with the four other boys, one in pants, most in dressing gowns. Andrew hadn't brought one. Who even wears those, he remembered asking while reading Muggle comics. Hogwarts students, is who, he thought miserably, arms crossed over his bare chest as though that would hide anything.

"What's wrong?" Rowan asked as he placed his y-fronts atop one of the stalls. There were stalls, so that was a relief, but they had no doors, and the dividers were so low that anyone could see the other side if they just turned their head.

"N-Nothing," he replied, but privately he was wondering how his friend could be so brash. Once his question had been answered, Rowan simply shrugged and turned the nearest faucet, letting the hot water wash over him with a carefree smile. He didn't even bother to turn away.

The other boys were similarly relaxed, tossing their dressing gowns and underwear about as though they did this sort of thing everyday. ...And they _would_ have to do it everyday, Andrew realised. The five of them shared a dormitory, they were roommates, they were... family. Andrew paled.

"Andy?" asked Rowan again, and this time the concern was clear in his voice. In his face, too. Rowan was staring at him with eyes full of uncertainty.

"He's just shy," said one of the other boys from a nearby stall. ‘Egwu, Andre,’ the Deputy Headmistress had called him. He remembered because he thought an Andrew and an Andre in the same house and the same year would be confusing. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, mate," the boy continued, "but you can wait until the rest of us are done if you want."

"Chester won't like that," said Rowan, his concern taking an entirely different tone. Chester was their Prefect, and they didn't want to upset their Prefect on the first night. "Maybe you can shower in your pants?" he whispered, a dubious look on his face.

Andrew couldn't help but giggle. "That's gross," he said.

Maybe he was just being silly. They were boys like him. Rowan didn't look any different from him apart from his brown skin and maybe also his muscles, which admittedly had surprised Andrew a little bit. Egwu was right though, there was nothing to be ashamed of.

Andrew quietly but determinedly stepped out of his pants and headed for the stall next to Rowan's, grateful that none of the other boys made any comments. He turned the water and just enjoyed the sensation for a while. The ride had been tiring, but the trip to the Ravenclaw Tower had been worse. Chester had led them through so many stairways and corridors that Andrew wasn't sure he'd even remember the way come tomorrow.

"Do you reckon we got to climb those stairs everyday?" he eventually asked, turning his head to Rowan without bothering to open his eyes.

"I read that Hogwarts has many secret passages," Rowan offered. "Maybe there's an easier way?"

"What, like a slide?" joked Egwu from his stall. He had a hearty, pleasant voice that sounded a bit older than most other first years.

"I wish," said one of the other boys. Andrew couldn't see him since he was sandwiched between Rowan and Egwu, but he suspected he wouldn't be able to remember his name anyway. "Mum says Hogwarts keeps you fit," he finished.

"My mum says that too," said Rowan, "though probably not as much as the farm."

"That's right, you said your parents owned a tree farm," murmured Andrew, more to himself than anything. _That explains the muscles,_ he thought.

Rowan went on about his family farm for a little bit before the other boys lost interest in the conversation. Soon there was a comfortable silence as they all washed themselves.

Since he'd entered last, Andrew lagged behind as the other boys headed for bed, except for Rowan, who stayed with him to chat.

"I know your brother was a Ravenclaw," he said, already dry and wearing a towel around his waist, "but what about the rest of your folks?"

"My dad is a Muggle, and my other dad is a Wizard, but he's not from around here. I got two," he added excitedly when Rowan raised his eyebrows. "I got a mum too, but she doesn't like it when I call her that."

"What d'you call her then?"

"Auntie."

Rowan opened his mouth to ask for details, but Chester chose that moment to stick his head in. "Khanna, what are you still doing there?" he chided. "I told you to go straight to bed."

Rowan didn't need to be told a third time; he quickly gathered his things and scampered back to the dormitory, pausing only to wish Andrew a quick goodnight. Andrew, for his part, quickly lost his newfound confidence and covered his privates as soon as he saw the older boy.

"Ribeiro, what's taking you so long?" asked Chester, eyeing him suspiciously. He didn't seem to notice Andrew's face growing beet red, or maybe he just didn't care.

"Um... s-sorry, Chester," squeaked Andrew.

There was a moment of deeply uncomfortable silence.

"Right. Don't be late for Charms in the morning," said Chester, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly, having finally realised it was in poor form to barge in on first years showering, Prefect or not. "Professor Flitwick is our Head of House, so don't go losing any points in his class, you hear?"

Without another word, Chester left their dormitory. Andrew let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding, then quickly towelled himself dry, remembering only afterwards that he'd left the shower running. It was a bit of a struggle to reach the faucet without getting wet again, but once that was done, he took stock.

The bathroom was kind of a mess. Andrew didn't know who was responsible for cleaning up their dormitory, and seeing it now, he didn't want to find out. There was water everywhere, for one. The floor was wet all the way to the door, and nobody but Rowan had bothered to pick up their pants or dressing gowns, so the ones lying on said floor were wet too. Egwu's garish purple and gold boxers and his equally colourful dressing gown were about the only ones still dry, since he had quite reasonably placed them on the nearby bench, next to where Rowan had been sitting.

Andrew sighed. The five of them shared a dormitory, they were roommates, they were family, but gosh, living with four other boys was going to be hard work.

...Even so, there were worst blokes to be stuck with.


	2. In The Rain

**YEAR 2**

Andrew and Rowan were at the Library, doing, what else, some research on the Cursed Vaults, trying to figure out what the clue they'd found in the room with the Cursed Ice really meant. So far, it was proving about as successful as the last eight times they tried.

"This blows," said Andrew, slumping against a nearby bookcase. "We haven't made any progress at all."

"I guess there's a reason nobody found the Vaults before," Rowan offered.

"I guess," Andrew said dejectedly. 

Eager to escape the subject, he scanned the many, many books they had taken out of their shelves. _Advanced Rune Translation; Ancient Runes Made Easy; Ancient Runes Translation._ (Rowan thought the cipher used for the message on the wall might have been based on runes.) _Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions._ (They thought they might find an easier way to deal with the Cursed Ice than using Flipendo, but unfortunately the book was rather light on ice based maladies.) _Curses and Counter Curses._ (They were called the _Cursed_ Vaults, after all...) _Gadding With Ghouls._ (Andrew had taken this one out for fun. Gilderoy Lockhart was so dapper!) _A Guide to Medieval Sorcery._ (Clearly the Vaults had been built around the time of the founding, but all they learned was that Wizards sometimes carried a staff in the old days, and that Godric Gryffindor carried a sword for when Muggles challenged him to a duel.) 

_Hogwarts, A History._ His eyes paused on the title. Looking at it, Andrew was reminded of a question that had been on his mind for quite some time.

"Rowan, maybe you know this," he said. "Hogwarts is supposed to have like, a thousand students, right? How come there's only five of us at our dorm?"

"You're only asking this now?" Rowan replied, stifling a laugh. As the future youngest professor in Hogwarts, he couldn't very well laugh at stupid questions, but still. "Andy, we're in Year Two!"

"I know!" said Andrew, blushing just a little bit. "I thought so last year too, but I reasoned maybe people didn't have enough kids, or something. I counted the Sorting this year though, and it was only forty kids, just like ours."

"That's because the one thousand students thing is just a rumour. Hogwarts only has about two hundred and eighty students per year," said Rowan, going full lecture mode. "There are always ten students per year, five boys and five girls, and seventy students per house. I've read about years where they had more, but it's uncommon. I mean, can you imagine hundreds of students gathering in our common room?" He scratched his head. "I figured your Wizard dad would have told you how many students there would be in your year at least."

"Pa didn't go to Hogwarts, remember?"

"Right," said Rowan, putting a thoughtful hand to his chin, "you mentioned he wasn't from around here. Did he go to another Wizarding school?"

Andrew shrugged. "I don't know. I can ask him when I send my owl this week if you want."

"I mean, sure, but aren't you curious?" his friend pressed.

"Not really. Oh, but me and Jacob did get a Castelobruxo letter."

Rowan's eyes went wide. "Really?!" he asked, looking positively giddy.

"Yes. Pa didn't go there either though. We got it because Da is from Brazil."

"That's your Muggle dad, right?"

Andrew nodded.

"Why didn't you and your brother go there?"

"Da thought we'd have trouble studying. Jake... I mean, Jacob didn't know that much Portuguese when he got his letter. I had more time to learn than him, but by then he'd already gone to Hogwarts and then some, so..." he trailed off.

"Hmm. You could have avoided his reputation though, if you'd gone there," said Rowan, obviously thinking of all the bullying they both endured.

"I guess. He's still my brother though. I thought coming here, I'd be able to connect to him, maybe even find him. I know it's silly—"

"It's not silly," Rowan protested. "If my little brother went missing, I'd stop at nothing to find him."

 _Yet_ my _big brother doesn't even think to send me a message,_ he thought bitterly. Rowan must have noticed his expression cloud, because he placed a hand on Andrew's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Hey. We're gonna find out what happened, okay?" he said.

Andrew reached out to his hand and brought it into his own. "Thank you, Rowan."

* * *

Despite his friend's reassurances, however, Andrew left the Library feeling very frustrated. He couldn't find the Cursed Vault last year, and wasn't making any headway this year either... he knew they existed, but 'the Ice Knight stands guard past the vanished stairs' wasn't much to go on. Thoughts of his brother encased in ice kept going through his head, and Merula was still being a witch to him even though he'd saved her life. Students from the other houses still bumped into him at corridors and whispered his and his brother's names behind his back, saying they both worked for You-Know-Who. Andrew hated it.

Things had eased up somewhat in his own house at least, thanks to their winning the House Cup with his hundred points last year, and he'd been able to prove Merula sabotaged him in Potions the other day, _unlike_ last year, so he wasn't losing points anymore. Chester still kept an eye on him though, no matter how many points Professor Flitwick awarded him for helping tutor the other students. Andrew sighed. The thing is, he loved Hogwarts, and he loved learning. He loved his friends. He loved magic. It was getting increasingly hard, though, to hold on to that love.

These thoughts kept hanging over his head like a stormy cloud all day until he couldn't take it anymore, so he ducked into the nearest empty classroom and stomped his foot really hard. It was just so frustrating! He wished he could shout, and felt like kicking something, but Mr. Filch or Peeves would probably hear him if he did the former, and his dads had taught him better than to damage stuff, especially stuff that wasn't his. His breath was getting uneven though, and he knew he had to calm down somehow, he had Transfiguration next and Professor McGonagall always looked at him with such hopeful eyes, eyes he'd only seen on Professor Flitwick after he levitated his first feather, eyes that didn't think he was a failure or a disgrace like... like his...

Biting down tears, Andrew thought back to when he was little, when he and Jacob would cuddle up to Da and listen to him sing his strange, foreign songs. Jacob was always so unsure back then. Unsure about his words, unsure about his gestures. Andrew was old enough to understand now. They'd just been adopted, and it was harder for Jacob. He remembered their birth parents, even though he wouldn't talk about them. Andrew didn't, not really. He was just happy he was going to have a family, and that his brother would be with him. The kids at the orphanage used to tease them about it, about how people might want Andrew, because he was so little, but nobody would want Jacob, so they might as well get used to being apart. His earliest memories were nightmares of someone taking him away from Jake. He was so grateful that didn't happen. He was so grateful to his dads. He was sure Jake was too, and that he was afraid to displease them in some way. The first time they got scolded—Jacob had convinced him to take a few Sickles from their Pa's pocket, so they could buy candy—he locked himself in his room, thinking he would be sent back to the orphanage. Da and Pa stayed at his door all night, and so did Andrew. They made a pillow fort. Pa brought loads of blankets, and Da sang until his throat was dry. Next morning, when Jake opened the door, they all fell over backwards into the room. Jake was terrified, but their dads just started laughing. Andrew didn't understand, but he started laughing too. Pa explained that they would never kick him out, no matter what he did, and that they loved him very much, but that what he'd done was wrong, and when Jacob asked what his punishment would be, their dads just looked at each other. 'Well, we were going to send you to bed early, but you sort of sent yourself,' their Pa said, and Andrew would never forget Jacob's smile then.

Later that day, Jacob asked Da if he could teach him one of his songs. Da decided to make a day out of it and teach them both.

It went like...

> _"Não estou disposto_
> 
> _a esquecer seu rosto de vez_
> 
> _e acho que é tão normal..."_

His voice was hoarse at first, he didn't have many chances to sing at Hogwarts, but it was picking up. The next part was...

> _"Dizem que sou louco_
> 
> _por eu ter um gosto assim,_
> 
> _gostar de quem não gosta de mim._
> 
> _Jogue suas mãos para o céu_
> 
> _e agradeça se acaso tiver_
> 
> _alguém que você gostaria que_
> 
> _estivesse sempre com você_
> 
> _na rua, na chuva, na fazenda_
> 
> _ou numa casinha de sapê..."_

The moment he was done, he heard clapping behind him. Loud, enthusiastic clapping. He turned around, startled and more than a little scared, only to find an unfamiliar red-haired Gryffindor boy grinning wildly at him.

"That was really good!" the boy said. Andrew scanned his face for mockery, but didn't find any. "You were singing in Portuguese, right?" he continued, unaware of the scrutiny. "Bill has a Brazilian penfriend, and this one time he sent a Howler it sounded kinda like that."

"Y-Yes, it was," said Andrew, still feeling like he got caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

"You should join the Frog Choir next time there's an opening! I bet you'd do really well there and..." he trailed off, looking at a spot in the ground. There wasn't anything there that Andrew could see except sunlight, coming from the now open door. As if on cue, the Gryffindor boy turned to look at it and put his hands to his head. "Bugger! I'm gonna be late for practice!"

Andrew followed his gaze and found that the sun was quite a bit lower than it had been when he entered the room. Did he really spend that much time inside? Hopefully he wouldn't be late for Transfiguration like the boy was for practice.

"I gotta go. Nice meeting you, see you around!" the boy said, darting out of the room before Andrew could even say 'bye.' 

_What a weird guy!_

But... maybe Andrew didn't feel so bad anymore. If nothing else, he was reminded that not everyone was out to get him. Maybe he'd ask Ben about this mystery boy later, since they were both Gryffindor. 

Maybe he'd ask about this Frog Choir, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song was Na Rua, Na Chuva, Na Fazenda by Hyldon, which you can listen to here:
> 
> https://youtu.be/5Y7PQxtmJ5k
> 
> It's a nostalgic song about finding someone who would be with you through hell or high water, or as the author put it, "in the streets, in the rain, in the farm, or in a little thatched house."


	3. Changing Gears

**YEAR 3**

The year was well underway, and Andrew hadn't been shy in a long time, not around his friends. They rarely showered all together like in that first day anyway. Quidditch players had their own changing room, so Andre usually showered there. Talbott mostly kept to himself. Andrew had caught him once or twice eating breakfast in their dorm room, but he was usually up long before anyone else, and his curtains were always drawn at night, so honestly no one was even sure what sort of pants he wore, much less what times he showered. The other bloke he just tried to avoid. They didn't like each other and at this point they probably never would. That just left him and Rowan, most of the time, which should have been fine, except...

Rowan was a weird sort. Not that Andrew wasn't weird. Far from it, what made their friendship work was that they could be weird together, and they had been, all throughout years one and two, but even so, Rowan was a bundle of little contradictions: he was smart, but easily tricked; strong, but often pushed around; shy, but not bashful. They often showered together, and sometimes slept in the same bed as they studied long hours into the night. Andrew didn't mind. He liked that Rowan was earnest and sincere about everything. Maybe being raised in a farm did that to you. 

Rowan had a little brother, he knew, and maybe Andrew, being short and scrawny (though he was growing, he was three inches taller than last year), reminded him of home. He sure acted like a big brother sometimes. For instance, he would always notice when Andrew was down, and always seemed to know just what to do. Sometimes it was hugging and fussing over him, other times it was simply staying at his side, and one time it was as simple as tickling him. Once, he'd gotten sick and passed out in class, and hours later he woke up to find Rowan on his bedside, holding his hand. Andrew smiled at the memory.

The point is, he liked Rowan. Secretly, he even liked that he was the one to protect Rowan from bullies. Rowan was his best friend. Yet lately, despite his best efforts, he couldn't stop staring, he couldn't stop noticing. Rowan was less built than he had been in their first year, probably he'd done less farm work and more studying over the summers. He had grown some too. Now he was taller than everyone in the dorm, and Andrew finally understood what people meant when they said teenagers were all arms and legs. Rowan wasn't a teenager though, was he?

It was worse with boys that _weren't_ Rowan. In his first year, Andrew couldn't understand why the older students changed out of their robes between classes. He barely made it to class on time as it were. Now that he was a little older himself, though, he started getting antsy, staying in those stuffy robes all day. Herbology was the only class that permitted a quick wash afterwards, in the showers adjacent to the greenhouses, but the other classes didn't change their schedules to accommodate one, and he had to return to his dirty robes and itchy slacks afterwards unless he'd brought a clean set. Andrew longed to learn the Scouring Charm that his Prefect kindly used on him whenever he spilled juice on his robes during breakfast, but that wasn't due for another year, so in the meantime he'd taken to wearing jeans and changing out of them in whichever bathrooms were closest to class.

Unsurprisingly, lots of people had that idea, meaning he was now sharing bathrooms a lot more often than at morning and nighttime. Changing in front of boys from other houses was daunting at first, but after a while his concerns changed from preserving his modesty to just, well, watching. Gryffindor boys tended to be more athletic. Hufflepuff boys were pudgy, in a way that made Andrew want to pinch their cheeks. Slytherin boys were often lean and well groomed. Not that there weren't exceptions. There was a Slytherin boy who was all muscles, and whenever he had Potions with him, Andrew had a hard time focusing, which is dire when your professor is Severus Snape.

Try as he might, Andrew couldn't figure out what the problem was. Sure, he had noticed Rowan's muscles in their first year, but only because he envied them. Now, he was noticing things simply because they were there to be noticed. In time, it wasn't even the Slytherin boy's muscles he was noticing anymore, it was the way his chest puffed when he talked about the various creatures their ingredients had been harvested from, the way the water trickled down his jaw whenever he had a drink, and even how the light from the cauldron framed his cheekbones. Andrew was sure no one had ever stared at him the way stared at that boy, and other boys in other classes, and it made him feel things.

Still, even though he didn't know why he was noticing these things, he found he could deal with it in the privacy of his dorm.

Unfortunately, today would prove him wrong.

He should have heard the sounds of the shower as he undressed and picked up a clean set of pyjamas from his trunk, but Professor Flitwick had shared with him earlier that day that he planned for them—that is, for the Frog Choir, which Andrew was now part of—to sing 'Double Trouble' at the Halloween Feast this year, and he'd been eager to practise it since. He was relieved to find his dorm empty when he returned to the Ravenclaw Tower and, unable to contain his enthusiasm, Andrew started singing at the top of his lungs. He continued to do so even as the bathroom door opened and out came, towel in hand and wearing boxers with little bird pictures on them, none other than Talbott Winger.

Andrew dropped his pyjama shirt, which he had been using as an impromptu dance partner, and stood there slack jawed, feeling his face heat up and his stomach drop as he now found himself face to face with the boy no one in Hogwarts knew anything about. 

Even now, he couldn't stop noticing. Talbott's hair looked strange wet, light caramel roots showing underneath the brown; his thick eyebrows and brown eyes were set into a frown even as tiny droplets of water trickled from the tips. His dark skin was glistening. Though his body wasn't particularly built, Andrew had the distinct impression he would be flattened should they fight.

Talbott inclined his head slightly, which Andrew correctly took to mean he'd stared for entirely too long, so he nodded and, blushing furiously, picked up his shirt from the ground and hastily put it on, watching from the corner of his eye as Talbott unconcernedly walked to his trunk and selected his evening wear. The first thing he did was retrieve a beautiful white feather necklace, which they both admired for a few seconds.

The silence grew tense as he waited. Andrew genuinely didn't know what to do. He was so embarrassed, and not just because of the singing. Part of him wanted to go to bed, close the curtains around him and not come out until the holidays, but he'd had so few chances to interact with Talbott the past few years, even though they slept in the same room. As fellow Ravenclaws in the same year, they shared a lot of classes, but somehow Talbott always managed to either work on his own in a corner or pair up with Penny Haywood, who seemed to be the only person he could stand. To someone as outgoing and friendly as Andrew, that was frustrating. They were supposed to be family! Of course, it wasn't like he was close with Andre either, but he still—

"Hey," said Talbott all of a sudden, breaking Andrew out of his thoughts so jarringly he thought he might get whiplash. Andrew looked over to him and saw that Talbott had a very neutral expression on as he buttoned up his shirt. Andrew caught sight of his chest one last time and flinched, because he wasn't supposed to be staring any more. 

There were several seconds of silence before Talbott spoke again. "The song was... nice," he said haltingly, as though unsure of how to make small talk. "Were you practising?"

"It was more a spontaneous thing," Andrew admitted, feeling his ears _burning,_ "but I'm going to at some point."

"Hmm."

More silence. Andrew got his legs working again and sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for the other boy to continue a conversation he wasn't sure was even happening. In the meantime, Talbott calmly poured some cream on his hands and massaged his hair until it was slicked back, brown over caramel in a way that reminded Andrew of the owls that swooped down the Great Hall with mail during breakfast. That was a normal thing to think, right? Andrew decided it was. He fiddled his hands in his lap, thinking very normal thoughts such as what a fine name Talbott was and definitely not about the way Talbott's trousers stuck to his bum.

"I've heard you sing before, you know," said Talbott.

"In the Frog Choir?"

"In our room." Talbott raised his eyebrows, his lips curling into a smile. "These doors aren't as soundproof as you think."

Andrew would have turned a stronger shade of red, except he'd never seen Talbott smile before. It was... he was beautiful.

"You also sing in the courtyard fairly often," Talbott added casually.

 _What! There wasn't supposed to be anyone there those times,_ his mind protested. _I checked!_

"I'm, uh... sorry for disturbing you," Andrew said lamely.

"I never said you did."

Talbott finished styling his hair and unceremoniously jumped on his bed, procuring a book from Merlin knows where and sitting cross legged to read it, their conversation apparently finished.

Andrew didn't talk to him again that day, or any day for that matter. Talbott kept on being private and doing his work alone or with Penny, but every now and then Andrew would send him a nod and Talbott would nod back. This carried on until one day, months later, he heard the most interesting thing from Tulip:

"I heard Talbott Winger is brewing an Animagus Potion."


	4. Prefect Attendance

**YEAR 4**

Andrew walked down the corridor a little tiredly, having been running around all week studying for tests, helping first years and monitoring his fellow Ravenclaws in hopes of becoming Prefect for his house, an honour which might finally get people to stop seeing him as "Jacob's brother" or "that Cursed Vaults kid," though he had told no one of such thoughts, not even his friends.

Early in the morning he'd had Potions class with Professor Snape, who contrary to his admittedly misguided expectations provided no encouragement whatsoever, not even after Andrew brewed a perfect Calming Draught. Fortunately, he wasn't the type to feel down about those sorts of things, and simply continued working hard on his studies.

Andrew was on his way to the library when a first year he'd helped a few days earlier caught up to him and told him Professor Flitwick wanted to see him. Andrew took the moment to ask how the boy was faring.

"Not too bad," replied the first year with a shy smile. "Thanks again for helping me with all those rules, even though it was a test."

Andrew returned the smile.

"No problem," he said.

Though it had been a test, he had a feeling the boy really did need help. Professor Flitwick had probably been on the receiving end of his questions and decided to send him to a Prefect hopeful instead and kill two birds with one stone.

"Look, anything you need, you can talk to me, alright?"

"I might take you up on your offer, Andrew Ribeiro," said the first year, his smile broadening into a grin. He was a good kid, weird though it was for Andrew to think of the first years that way, considering he was only fourteen himself. Year One seemed like a faraway memory now.

They parted ways, and Andrew decided to head for the first floor corridor, seeing as he'd already met Professor Flitwick there three times. Sure enough, he spied the Professor as soon as he opened the doors.

Professor Flitwick was a calming presence in Andrew's life in Hogwarts, possibly even more so than Professor McGonagall, though he would be hard pressed to choose between them. As a Charms Professor, he was upbeat and easy to understand. Andrew learned a great many things from him, and often helped him tutor any struggling students, to great success. As a Head of House, he was fair and reliable, never being overly harsh in his punishments and always willing to listen to an explanation.

Andrew greeted him with a smile. "You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"I wanted to congratulate you on your academic excellence in every one of your classes," Professor Flitwick replied. "Professor Snape informed me of your prowess in his class earlier today."

"Wh— He did?!" said Andrew before he could stop himself. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, and in fact was discreetly checking his professor for signs of Polyjuice, although he wasn't sure the potion could change height or mass to this degree...

Professor Flitwick quickly noticed his shock. "I believe his exact words were, 'Ribeiro has proven adequate at following instructions,' which you should know is nothing short of a glowing recommendation, coming from him," the Professor explained. "In fact, the only other time he praised a student from another house so highly was when he mentioned Penny Haywood had a modicum of talent for Potions. I believe dear Pomona nearly fainted on the spot."

Andrew was so happy he could have run back to the Potions classroom and hugged Professor Snape right then and there, but Professor Flitwick wasn't finished.

"My dear student, you are indeed one step closer to becoming Prefect, and simply making it this far proves you are a credit to your house."

Andrew tensed up a little. That sort of praise was very often followed by a 'but.'

"There is, however, one other matter we must discuss," said the Professor, his tone grave.

"Y-Yes?"

"Mr. Ribeiro," Professor Flitwick started, pausing to choose his next words carefully, "have you gone through puberty?"

"Um..." Andrew replied intelligently. He felt his face heat up in the span of seconds.

"Now, now, I realise this may be awkward, but it is also of vital importance," the Professor continued. "The younger students may come to you for guidance, and on such occasions, you must have the guidance they seek."

Though flushed, Andrew considered it. The thing is, he'd never gone to his Prefect for any of, um, _ that, _ and he was sure none of his dormmates had either. The only one he had told was Rowan, and only because he was too Ravenclaw for his own good, and kept asking embarrassing questions. The library didn't have any books on it either, except on the Restricted Section, and it was a whole endeavour to get in there. So, what he was thinking was, it would have been much easier to just hear it from Chester.

The more he thought about it, the more unfair it seemed, to have to deal with all these problems on your own, away from your family. While watching Jacob grow had given him some idea of what to expect, he still panicked when he woke up one morning with a wet spot in his sheets. He thought he'd been hexed! What was he supposed to do, owl his parents?

_ Chester never seemed equipped to answer those questions though, _ he thought ruefully. Andrew would have been mortified to talk to the older boy about that—in fact, he remembered being terrified Chester would find out and deduct house points, and then everyone would know—and that was a problem, because your Prefect was supposed to be someone you could go to for anything, without involving any adults.

Andrew resolved to be a better Prefect than that. Not that he hated his old Prefect or anything. Chester Davies had taught Andrew how to defend himself, and many other things, but he was simply too fussy about house points to help when it really mattered. On the occasion, Andrew had cast Scourgify and hoped nobody noticed the lingering scent (they did) and that the house elves picked up the laundry soon (they didn't) and then fumbled around trying to discover what was wrong with him. He'd almost talked to Professor McGonagall, but he didn't want to disappoint her.

"Mr. Ribeiro?" Professor Flitwick asked, a concerned look clear on his face.

Andrew swallowed hard, wishing for all the world he could just disappear, but if he wanted to be Prefect, and he did, he had to deal with this. His hands were balled into fists and stuck at his sides, his ears felt so hot he thought they might let loose steam, but still he raised (or rather, lowered) his eyes to meet the Professor's, and said:

"I have, sir. Gone through puberty, that is."

Professor Flitwick beamed at him as though he'd just passed his O.W.L.s. "Very good," he said.


	5. Locked Away

**YEAR 5**

Andrew fancied himself a fairly competent duellist. In his first year alone he had beaten both Chester Davies, his Prefect, and Merula Snyde, at the time a terrible bully. In his second, he'd defeated the Ice Knight guarding one of the Cursed Vaults. Throughout his stay at Hogwarts, he had faced many fearsome opponents, even an Acromantula, and so, he thought privately, a bit of a reputation was not undeserved. Not that he would ever brag, of course, but being good _felt_ good.

It was with such thoughts that Andrew entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom that afternoon, wherein his eyes were immediately drawn to a large chest sitting right in front of Professor Rakepick's desk, a rattling sound coming from within. The day's lesson promised to be interesting, yet he could not help but have a bad feeling...

"Two years ago," Professor Rakepick began as soon as they were all seated, "Hogwarts was nearly overcome by Boggarts spawned from a Cursed Vault. Thankfully, Mr. Ribeiro and his friends broke the curse on the so called Vault of Fear, ending the infestation."

Andrew smiled proudly at the praise and recognition. It wasn't often that he got it, not for that.

"While the majority of the Boggarts have been banished," the Defence Professor continued, "some were kept for future lessons in this very class.".

His smile faded as he felt the sharp pain of realisation run down his spine.

"Everyone needs to know how to defend themselves should they ever encounter one in the future. Fortunately, Mr. Ribeiro is an expert on the subject, and can demonstrate the most effective method..."

"You want me to face another Boggart?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level.

"Unless you're too afraid..." she challenged, eyes narrow, smile wide.

"N-No, of course not," he stuttered after a moment. Badeea, who was sitting next to him, eyed him with an indecipherable expression, but said nothing. Andrew took it as reassurance, and got up from his desk.

Those who frequently face danger say it's one thing to learn about dangerous beasts in class, but another, very different thing to face them in the real world. Though this was supposed to mean that you could never prepare for real danger, Andrew had found that real danger often came with the means by which it might be defeated. It was something none of his friends could understand, save perhaps for Bill. Back when he had faced all those Boggarts in the Cursed Vault, he'd had his friends beside him, a cause worth fighting for, and the promise of answers just beyond his reach. When the chips were down, yes, he could banish as many Boggarts as he had to, because it was the only way to save his friends, to save Hogwarts, to find out what happened to his brother; but here, in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, he had nothing.

The truth is, he was very much scared... because his Boggart, his worst, most profound fear, was Lord Voldemort.

Andrew had fought him last time. The final Boggart was stronger than the others, and would not fall to the banishing spell until subdued. Not only he had no doubt that Professor Rakepick had procured the strongest Boggart she could find, and thus he would have to duel him again, he was also sure that his fear of the Dark Lord was stronger than ever before, because the answers he had found that night were that his brother may very well be working with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

"When you open this cabinet," Professor Rakepick said, gesturing towards the thing Andrew had previously thought was a chest, "a Boggart will emerge, and you will demonstrate the proper banishing technique."

Professor Rakepick took a single step forward. "Please cast the Unlocking Charm," she ordered.

Andrew tried to control his breath. He drew his wand from his robes and, with a flourish, pointed it towards the cabinet. "Alohomora!"

He rose from the cabinet like a spectre, green robes twisting around his pale skin, a black cloak billowing behind him like the wings of a monstrous bat. His eyes were bloodshot, his nostrils flared, but there was no anger on his face, only a contemptuous sneer.

Andrew heard screams coming from behind him, but didn't dare turn around, risking only the briefest glance. There wasn't enough time to check on all his friends. Charlie was laying on the ground, his legs still halfway in his chair, and Talbott was gripping his table, looking haunted.

Distantly, he heard Rakepick. "Have no fear, class," she said. "Mr. Ribeiro has everything under control."

Andrew, who very much did not have anything under control, simply nodded. Tears threatened to burst from his eyes, but he blinked them away. In his mind, he was facing Death himself.

Lord Voldemort carried himself strangely. His left hand was held limp above his chest, while his right held a wand between his fingers, casually, carelessly even, yet pointed straight at his opponent. These affectations had made many underestimate the Dark Lord during his rise to power, or so the books had said. Andrew, for his part, could not see how anyone could possibly underestimate the man... the monster... standing before him.

"Incarcerous!" he cast before his courage could fail him, but the ropes that surged from the tip of his wand were easily deflected with a wave of the Dark Lord's hand.

With a motion so swift it tricked the eyes, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named raised his wand, and mouthed an incantation that, although unheard, any wizard would recognise.

Andrew ducked under a nearby desk as a sickly green light blazed past him. The Boggarts in the Vault could not cast the Unforgivable Curse, but what if this was different, was if this was real? Andrew did not want to find out.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, and with a swish and flick the desk was lifted off the ground, floating above him for only moments before he performed an arching motion with his wand and placed it between him and Voldemort. Seconds later, the top half burst into pieces, hit by the same green light from before.

"Depulso!" cried Andrew. The half-destroyed desk was immediately flung toward Voldemort, shattering into a thousand pieces as it hit his hastily raised protection.

_Now._

"Flipendo!"

Caught by surprise, the Dark Lord was hurled into the support beam behind him with such force that several objects were knocked from the nearby shelves. Andrew quickly closed the distance between them, and before the Boggart could react he said: "Riddikulus."

There was a noise like a whip crack; instantly, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named turned into a clown.

"Remember," Professor Rakepick said after several seconds of stunned silence, "that what truly banishes a Boggart is not the spell, but the laughter it facilitates."

Andrew was exhausted, but it was a little bit funny to see You-Know-Who dancing on a table and then offering flowers to Merula, who in turn rolled her eyes in disgust; he let out a weak chuckle, and soon the whole class was laughing.

"Well done," said Professor Rakepick after casting Colloportus on the cabinet, into which the Boggart had retreated. "I did not expect the... theatrics, but we each deal with our fears in different ways. Class dismissed."

Andrew walked out of the classroom in a daze. Penny offered him a potion, probably Wiggenweld, while Rowan simply put a hand to his shoulder. Badeea, trailing slightly behind the group, seemed to be furiously scribbling on her notepad.

"What are you painting?" Andrew asked, a safe guess when it came to her. In response, she pointed her wand to the page, murmured something he couldn't quite make out, then gently severed it.

"For you," she said simply.

Andrew took the page from her hands and found it contained a pencil drawing of him hiding behind the raised table. Though simple, the drawing moved, and he could clearly see his own fear when the Dark Lord's spell hit the table, as well as his determination when he decided what to do next. For some reason, that made him feel better than any praise could.


	6. Dragonfire

**YEAR 5**

Andrew was facing a dragon. Though he had been told to prepare, though he was clad in protective gear, though every bit of information he'd learned was flaring in his mind, he hadn't expected the fear, the pure, unadulterated terror that threatened to consume him. Andrew was facing a dragon, alone.

The plan had been to fight as a team, to throw everything they had at the creature together, and even then Rakepick had warned them that they might not live, that she might not live... and yet here he was, alone. To his left, he could hear Bill frantically scrambling to get Charlie and the others from under the rubble. To his right, there was Rakepick, carrying the weight of the world above her head, countless rocks held aloft by a single 'Arresto Momentum,' ready to crush them the moment she faltered.

Then there was the dragon, a Hungarian Horntail, old, so old, wings torn, and scars, too many to count. There were broken chains wrapped around its hind legs, decrying what must have been an eternity of imprisonment, yet Andrew could spare no pity towards the beast, for it stared at him with more anger than he was capable of feeling.

Andrew had cast the Conjunctivitis Curse, but though hurting, the dragon wasn't blind in the slightest. It swung its spiked tail like a whip, slamming into the stone floor with a thunderous crack, and though it missed, the shock alone was enough to knock Andrew down.

"Mr. Ribeiro!" bellowed Professor Rakepick, though Andrew wasn't sure whether it was a warning or an exclamation.

The chains dragged along the ground with a rattling sound as the Hungarian Horntail returned to its original position. It roared, a terrible, deafening roar that caused the ceiling to cave in even further. Professor Rakepick grunted.

 _The chains,_ thought Andrew as he once again stood face to face with the dragon. "Wingardium Leviosa!" he cried; immediately the chains were raised, and when he waved his wand to the side they followed, a sharp tug which caused the beast to trip.

Not pausing to breathe, Andrew released the Levitation Charm and with his wand traced into the air a Z pattern. "Diffindo!" 

Professor Flitwick had said the severing charm could cut through anything, but evidently he had meant anything within reason, for Andrew failed to even scratch the creature's thick hide. _What now?_ he thought as the dragon got up, and with what almost seemed like a malicious smile crushed the chains under its claws. That trick would not work again.

More pressingly, Andrew recognised all the signs when the dragon next opened its mouth. Steam coming out of its nostrils, a low, rasping sound filling the air... it was preparing to breathe fire.

'The Hungarian Horntail can shoot fire as far as fifty feet,' he remembered Hagrid saying and almost chuckled. There was much less than fifty feet between him and the dragon.

There was no way he could escape, so he did the only sensible thing.

"Protego!"

The fire came crashing into his shield like a wave, splitting in two at the tip of his wand, and it was all Andrew could do to keep it steady, pointing directly forward. He kept his grip firm, as though holding a sword, and it was a good thing he did, because the wand kept trying to yank his hand in several directions, wavering, spasming, twitching under the pressure. Andrew could feel it, he could feel the power surging within his wand, and with it the distinct sense that it was made for this. Even so, when the dragon finally stopped, Andrew was spent, heaving as though he'd just run from one end of the castle to the other. 

Unfortunately, there was no time to rest. The dragon narrowed his eyes at him and huffed, offended that he'd survived, then readied another breath. Andrew knew that using the Shield Charm again would deplete his energy; it was time to change tactics.

What spells did he know that could withstand dragon fire? What spells did he know that could break through that thick hide? There weren't many, but as he turned to Professor Rakepick for help, an idea occurred to him.

"Descendo!"

As the first wisps of flame formed in the dragon's mouth, one of the rocks floating above them abruptly dropped to the ground, beckoned by the whiplike motion of Andrew's wand, hiding the beast from view and blocking most of the fire, though he still recoiled from the heat.

"Clever," said Professor Rakepick, but Andrew wasn't done.

"Depulso!" he cried, and the rock was hurled towards the dragon, who roared in indignation.

Andrew faltered. He hated hurting creatures like this. What would Hagrid say? There was no other way, however. Swallowing hard, he lifted another one of the rocks with the Levitation Charm, intending to toss it at the dragon, but it was prepared this time, and swiped at him with his claws before he could. Andrew and his hastily raised Protego were both sent flying towards the pile of slag his friends were trapped in. As his shield only covered the front, his back and sides took the brunt of the impact. Andrew hissed in pain, thinking he'd heard a crack but too worked up to pinpoint where. Unrelenting, the dragon approached, each step destroying the stone underneath. Andrew pointed his wand at one of the rocks floating above the dragon and bellowed, "Descendo!" but it did little more than make the beast even angrier.

Soon, too soon, the dragon was upon him, opening its maw point blank. Andrew felt the heat long before any fire formed. Panicking, he scanned above him for the largest rock he could find, but they were all too small. Big enough to bury them, but too small to do any kind of damage to the dragon. "Bollocks," he muttered under his breath, feeling his eyes water. The dragon readied its fire, and—

* * *

Andrew woke up drenched in sweat, his eyes darting in every direction. His room. He was in his dorm room. In his bed. He'd had a nightmare. His curtains weren't drawn, so he was able to scan the room, but there wasn't much to see since everyone else kept theirs shut, and also, it was dark. Fumbling around for his wand, he discovered that he was still in battle garb. The dragon emblazoned on the metallic chest piece seemed to be staring at him, and he found that he wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible. Not caring one whit for privacy at the moment, he motioned to get up and strip, but felt a sharp pain in his chest the moment he tried, so sharp it forced him to inhale and grip his sheets, to hold his awkward position for as long as he could in fear of feeling it again, but he couldn't, he didn't have the energy, and soon he fell back onto his bed. His ribs, he realised. Several of them were broken on the right side, from when he'd...

_...hissed in pain, thinking he'd heard a crack but too worked up to pinpoint where..._

It hurt a little to breathe, too. He should have gone to Madam Pomfrey with the others, with Merula, but Dumbledore had wanted to talk to him and afterwards he was so tired, he'd simply stumbled to the Ravenclaw Tower and into his bed. Someone must have propped his feet up because he didn't remember doing it, and neither did he remember taking off his boots. He stared at his bare feet, thinking it weird that they were so clean despite the fierce battle. Maybe whoever propped them up also cast the Scouring Charm. He chuckled a little at the mental image, but that made the pain flare up, and soon his humour was lost.

Finding his wand, he pointed it at his chest and started the incantation for the healing charm he'd learned from Madam Pomfrey in his second year.

"Andrew, don't!" a voice shouted, and Andrew was so startled he nearly dropped the wand. Recovering quickly, however, he pointed it at the source, wordlessly casting _Lumos,_ and realised that Rowan's curtains were not as closed as he'd thought. He found his friend's sleepy but alert face staring back at him, and blinked.

"What's wrong?" he asked, a little alarmed.

Rowan threw his curtains open. He was in his jammies, his top unbuttoned, probably due to the heat, or so Andrew assumed. The heat was why he hardly ever closed his own curtains, after all. 

"Episkey shouldn't be used to heal that sort of injury," Rowan said while reaching for his glasses on the bed stand. He looked different without his glasses. Stronger. Andrew shook his head, wondering why his thoughts were so scattered. "If you heal it wrong, Madam Pomfrey will have trouble later," his friend continued. "Do you want me to take you to the hospital wing?"

"No... No, I just want a shower."

"I'll help you," Rowan said, already tossing his shirt aside. Andrew blushed, but managed a weak nod.

And help he did need. It was impossible for him to take off his gear without one of his ribs poking his lungs, that's what most of the pain was. Rowan started by unbuckling the big chest and shoulder pieces. Andrew could unbuckle the arm pieces himself, but he needed assistance with the legs, because he found he couldn't bend down without immense pain. After taking all the armour off, and glad that Rowan or whoever else had already taken off his boots, he set to take off his shirt, but raising his arms the wrong way quickly proved to hurt as well.

"I guess this is why Madam Pomfrey sometimes uses the Severing Charm on her patient's clothes," Andrew mumbled, turning his head, and only his head, to look at Rowan.

Rowan was, in turn, looking at the dragon emblem on the chest piece.

"Did you guys really... you know, fight a dragon?" he asked.

Andrew found it hard to speak. He managed a brief, jerky nod. He was sure his friend had many questions, but he wasn't ready to answer any of them. Sensing this, Rowan put the chest piece aside and resumed helping him undress, starting with his shirt. There was a slider in the front—a magical zip of sorts, similar to those little plastic bags his dad used to pack his lunch in—which he undid himself, and then Rowan took over. 

Next up were his trousers. Andrew briefly considered moving to the bathroom, maybe using a charm to take them off himself, but decided it would be too much trouble when his friend was so willing to help. Besides, even though they hadn't showered together in a while, he still had nothing to hide. Rowan helped him stand, then unceremoniously dropped his trousers and pants with one tug, taking his hand afterwards.

"Can you walk ok?" he asked.

Andrew nodded, stepping out of his pants to prove it, but Rowan led him to the bathroom by hand anyway. His hands were calloused, he noticed. Not from working with the trees like in their first year, but from taking too many notes. The O.W.L.s hadn't been kind on Rowan. Andrew wished his friend would take more time to rest, but after a single day, Rowan had decided to start studying for their N.E.W.T.s. He wondered how that was going, and realised with a bit of a jump that he didn't know. They hadn't spoken a whole lot this year, except when... he swallowed. Except when he needed something. Andrew held on to his hand more tightly, wishing their friendship wasn't wasting away like this. He tried justifying himself in his mind... the Portrait Curse, detention... but in the end, it had been his mistake.

"We haven't hung out much lately," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

It was Rowan's turn to nod. That had been a touchy subject ever since they'd fought about it in the library.

"I'm sorry, Rowan," he said simply.

"Don't be," said Rowan, busying himself fetching towels and the like once they got to the bathroom. He avoided looking at Andrew. "I saw how happy Penny was when her sister came out the portrait. I know you were doing everything you could to help her."

"That's no excuse," said Andrew. He avoided looking at Rowan too, but for different reasons. He was terrified he would tap into his Legilimency and accidentally read his friend's thoughts. He was terrified of what those thoughts might be.

Rowan took off his own trousers and pants and laid them neatly on a bench before turning to him.

"Look at me, Andrew," he asked. Andrew reluctantly raised his eyes. What else could he do? "I'm never going to stop being your friend. I know how hard this year was on you, and... last night, I thought..." he trailed off. The stoic mask he was wearing cracked, and Andrew found all his fears coming true as he was unwittingly drawn into Rowan's mind.

There, he saw...

Rowan, slamming a book shut in the library. Madam Pince shushed him, but he stared back at her with accusing eyes and stormed out.

Rowan, talking to Professor Flitwick. Andrew couldn't make out the words, but he was the subject, and Rakepick was mentioned. The tiny professor simply shook his head before the memory dissolved.

Rowan, reading a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, inside which was a doodle Andrew recognised. It depicted Merula in a fancy dress with her hair done up, compared to a velociraptor. Andrew couldn't help but giggle. He'd made that in their first year. That was his book.

Perhaps because he'd laughed and alerted Rowan, the next few memories were just brief flashes. Rowan in the courtyard... Rowan trying to talk to Dumbledore... Rowan pacing the great hall... and worry, so much worry, enough to make both their chests heavy.

When he finally managed to pry himself away, Andrew was crying. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he sobbed as his own mask cracked.

"Andy?!" Rowan exclaimed, surprised. He didn't know anything about Occlumency or Legilimency, he didn't know his mind had been intruded upon, but his friend was crying, his best friend, so Rowan did the only thing he knew to do, and hugged him.

The hug hurt, but Andrew didn't care. He buried his face in Rowan's chest, repeating apologies like a mantra, and his friend was stroking his hair and kissing the top of his head, trying to get him to calm down, and he felt like he was eleven again but he didn't care, he'd hurt his friend, he'd almost died, he'd almost left him behind, and that hurt more than anything the dragon or Rakepick had done to him.

Rowan moved his hand to the thin of Andrew's back and whispered, "Shhh, shhh... Calm down. Everything's ok. You made it back. It's over."

"It's not over," Andrew protested. "Next year there's gonna be another curse and... and I'm gonna have to, to break the rules and let everyone down again. I don't want to do this anymore, Rowan."

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to," Rowan tried, but before the words even left his mouth they both knew it was a lie. Still, it was a lie Andrew was willing to believe for the moment.

"I don't want to be a Curse-Breaker," he said quietly. It was the first time he admitted it to anyone. "I just want to learn, and do the things other kids do. Do you know why I was so calm about our O.W.L.s? It's because worrying about them seemed pointless, when my brother was still missing and Penny's sister was trapped in a portrait. I just couldn't bring myself to care too much."

There was a moment of silence as Rowan digested that information. Andrew knew what he must be thinking, even without using Legilimency. For years now, everyone had pegged him for a Curse-Breaker. It was the most obvious choice for his career, and he had the grades for it. During his career counselling, even Professor Flitwick seemed to treat other options as just that, options, alternatives in case Curse-Breaking didn't work out. No one had bothered to ask him if it was even on the list.

It wasn't that Andrew didn't like solving mysteries and trouncing Dark wizards, he just... he didn't want to spend the rest of his life fighting evil and looking over his shoulder for enemies. He liked healing, he liked teaching, he even liked duelling, but he didn't like putting his life on the line every time.

Still rubbing the thin of Andrew's back, Rowan cleared his throat. Andrew looked up at him, suddenly feeling a little self conscious. They were starkers and hugging and he was crying and blimey, maybe he ought to turn into a dog to make it less awkward, but he didn't know how the Animagus transformation would react to his injuries. He'd have to ask Professor McGonagall later, or maybe Talbott.

Finally, Rowan spoke. "I'm sorry, Andy," he said, and shushed Andrew when he tried to protest. "I had no idea you'd been bottling this up for so long. I always thought it was sort of an adventure to you."

"It was, at first," Andrew admitted. "I mean, the Cursed Ice and the Boggarts, those didn't really kill anyone, not even the Sleepwalking Curse did, and I thought it was my chance to find my brother."

"You did find him," Rowan said.

Andrew smiled, just for a moment. Though he was hurt his brother had left him, again, he was at least glad he still had one.

Rowan squeezed his shoulder companionably. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up," he said.

Andrew felt a little like one of the creatures he cared for with Hagrid and Professor Kettleburn, being washed from top to bottom by another person, but that person was his best friend, and no one was watching anyway. He decided to relax.

Unbeknownst to him, two people were watching. The first was Talbott Winger, who'd awakened to a shout and watched the entire situation unfold.

The second was the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw.


	7. Sleeping Dogs

**YEAR 6**

Andrew had been in the third floor boys' bathroom changing out of his jeans and into his school slacks so he could go to Charms class when he thought he heard sobs coming from one of the stalls. Not being one to beat about the bush, he walked over and swung it open. Inside was a Slytherin first year with bright blonde hair not unlike his own, starkers from the waist down. Andrew was about to turn away and close the door when he noticed the toilet seemed to be clogged, and he knew all too well what with: the boy's pants and trousers had been firmly shoved inside. Luckily he still had his shoes on, but clearly it had not been the best day to leave the dorm without his robes.

Andrew reached for his wand in a practised movement, only to remember it was still in the pocket of his jeans, which were currently lying on the cold stone floor.

"Wait here," he instructed, though the poor sod couldn't very well go anywhere now, could he? The kid had a look of a deer in headlights, but nodded weakly as he pushed the hem of his dress shirt down.

Andrew was a Ravenclaw Prefect, but any first year was his responsibility. That's what he thought as he searched. After a bit of fumbling he found the blasted thing, pointed to the toilet, and wordlessly levitated the trousers and underwear within. With a twist of his wand, he made it so the bundle of clothes wringed themselves of excess water, though the wand protested being used for something so mundane. 

Mr. Ollivander had said his new wand was suited to combative magic, but who could have expected it to actually have a preference? In their first days together, it had actually refused to perform any of the more simple, everyday Charms he liked to use. They had bonded since, of course—he reckoned it was taking down the Troll that did it—but it still behaved capriciously every now and then.

Andrew pointedly ignored it and gave the clothes one last tug before casting, "Scourgify!" to clean them up proper. Finally, with a complicated little wave he sent hot air blasting from the tip of his wand to dry them.

"Th-Thank you," said the boy, immediately grabbing his pants out of the air. They were superhero patterned, which Andrew found surprising for a Slytherin. Good taste though.

Andrew lowered the steaming trousers into the ground, then turned to give him some privacy. As he waited, he thought that maybe the boy did bring his robes. The first years tended to wear theirs everywhere, they weren't familiar enough with the castle to risk taking time to change, so most likely... he grimaced. Andrew hated bullying, he hated it.

"Who did this?" he asked, and hearing the familiar sound of a belt being fastened, felt it was safe to turn around again.

To his credit, the kid had finished dressing himself. What surprised Andrew were the tears streaming freely across his face.

Crouching to be at eye level with him, he hastily said, "Hey, hey, it's okay," but that only seemed to open the floodgates further. The boy was flinching now with each sob, the same sobs he'd heard earlier. Andrew reached out to dry his tears, but that seemed inadequate somehow. Feeling helpless, he instead pulled the boy into a hug.

They stayed that way for a long time. Maybe it wasn't the manly thing to do, but what did he care about any of that rubbish? He was a dog, and dogs were affectionate by nature. Andrew only briefly remembered Charms class, and quite rightly thought this more important. He was sure Professor Flitwick would understand.

Eventually, after one last squeeze, the boy pulled back. His face was red, though whether from embarrassment or from the crying, Andrew couldn't say.

"What's your name, pup?" he asked, drying the last of the tears from the boy's face.

"D-Donald, sir," the boy replied. Andrew noticed he was eyeing his Prefect badge.

"No need to call me sir," he said, ruffling the boy's carefully groomed hair. "My name's Andy."

"Andy," repeated Donald, somewhat dazedly. Then he straightened up. "You're not Andrew Ribeiro, are you?"

"That's me," he confirmed, holding back a sigh. Though it didn't bother him as much as it would have in the past, it did bother him.

Donald looked a little unsure for a second, but then relaxed. He'd already cried his heart out, no sense in getting all worried now. "I don't want to get in trouble," he mumbled.

"The one in trouble will be whoever did this to you," Andrew replied evenly, reaching out to Donald's hand and giving it a squeeze.

"What are you going to do...?" he asked, a little unsure.

"We're going to talk to Professor Snape." Andrew gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but Donald blanched at the suggestion.

"B-B-But he's evil!" he blurted out. 

Andrew raised an eyebrow. _Is this kid really a Slytherin or is he a Gryffindor in disguise?_ he thought with some amusement.

"Don't be silly. Professor Snape isn't evil, he's your Head of House," he said in a tone that brokered no nonsense, "and he hates bullies."

Well, that might not be necessarily true. He remembered Snape being quick to jump to Merula's defence in their first year... but maybe he didn't consider what Slytherin did to other houses to be 'bullying.' Even so, Andrew was sure he wouldn't take kindly to anyone tormenting one of his own first years.

"Donny," he said, holding his hand firmly as he did. The nickname had come to him in a flash, and seemed less patronising than 'pup,' which Andrew had decided just now to save for when the boy warmed up to him. "Donny, can you trust me?"

Donald gave him a long, hard look, which Andrew bore without complaint, determined not to look away for even a moment. This was a mistake, because the longer he stared into those black eyes, the more he could he see. Yes, he could see Donald hiding in the stall as distant voices mocked him... he could hear them easily unlocking the door with a spell, two boys, both Slytherin... they said such horrible things, pushed him against the wall... they took his wand, knowing he wouldn't fight back... then they took his robes and unbuckled his belt...

Andrew closed his eyes, unable to look any longer. He felt short of breath even though he hadn't moved. Legilimency was a terrible gift, terrible, and everyday he felt a little less in control.

"Did they hurt you?" he asked, he had to ask, people were easiest to read when they were hurting and Donald was hurting, but he dared not guess how much.

Donny shook his head, no doubt thinking Andrew Ribeiro was a very strange boy, no need for Legilimency to see that.

"Who were they? No, nevermind. I bet they're first years like you." 

Donny nodded. That meant they shared a dorm. Andrew could barely contain his anger, and felt his wand pulsating in his hand, thirsty for blood.

"I do trust you," Donny said suddenly. "You helped me and you didn't have to. Nobody else did."

Andrew nodded too, his anger subsiding somewhat.

"Cowards. Tossers, the lot of them," he huffed. "Come on now, we need to go," he said, though it wasn't much of a request since he was holding Donny's hand. 

They walked all the way to the door before Andrew felt the boy fidgeting.

"Um..."

"Yes?"

"M-Maybe you want to..." the boy trailed off, so Andrew turned to look at him. Doing so gave him an excellent view of both his jeans and slacks, still where he'd left them earlier. Andrew blushed furiously, but only for a moment, because right afterwards he doubled over laughing. Donny laughed too, which was a relief.

"That would have been a right scene, wouldn't it?" he asked amiably while beckoning his trousers with a wave of his wand. They floated over lazily, which Andrew attributed to his wand, but he needed a moment to calm down anyway. 

Once he was dressed, they bolted out of the room, heading straight for the dungeons.

"So," he said conversationally, "you like comic books, huh?"

Donny paled, but Andrew squeezed his hand before it could get too bad.

"I had some too, in my first year," he confided. "Dad said he packed them by mistake, but I think he was having a laugh. I liked them, anyway. Very comfy."

"I like mine too," Donny said shyly. "The other boys have Quidditch prints and the like. I think they're weird, like having the UK flag stamped on your bum."

Andrew cackled with the mental image, though inwardly he was doing some thinking. Donny had to be Muggleborn. Maybe a Halfblood with a weird situation, wouldn't be the first one, though they tended to get Sorted into the other houses. Slytherin was a fine house and all, but only for ancient Wizarding families. Everyone else who had the traits usually picked another house, he knew the Hat let them do that, unless... unless they didn't know better.

"How do you know Professor Snape isn't evil?" Donny asked a little while later. "I heard he's a vampire."

Andrew snorted. "No, he just doesn't get out much. I think he's busy all day with potions. He sometimes has lunch with us in the Great Hall though, and he goes to the Quidditch matches."

"Okay, so he's not a vampire," Donny said, a little put out, "but that doesn't prove he's not evil. He's mean."

"He is mean," Andrew conceded, "but that doesn't mean he's evil. Potions isn't like the other subjects, it's dangerous, but everyone is always screwing around because there's no fancy spells. He's not evil, he's just grumpy."

"How do you know, though?" Donny pressed. "How do you know he's not evil?"

That gave him some pause. How did he know? Just a few years back, he'd laughed in disbelief when Penny suggested Professor Snape might not be so bad, but here he was fervently defending him. What changed?

Donny silently waited for an answer. They'd stopped walking. A beautiful barn owl perched on a nearby window, looking at them curiously.

"He saved my life," Andrew finally said. "I'd be dead if it wasn't for him, but even before that..." He sighed. "He gave me advice when he didn't have to. He taught me advanced potions when I needed them, even though he knew I was up to no good. He listened to me sing when I wanted to join the Frog Choir. He apologised for reading an embarrassing note of mine in class. He gives me points when I do well, and he even overlooked a mistake I made so I could have an O in Potions and take his N.E.W.T. level classes this year. Professor Snape cares, he just doesn't show."

There was a long moment of silence. Andrew stared at his little friend expectantly, feeling very vulnerable all of a sudden, but it was only after several minutes that Donny asked, in a shrill voice:

"He listened to you sing?!" 

* * *

Severus Snape was, as per usual, in his classroom, brewing a second batch of Draught of Peace for Poppy. Many students had come to her the year before, cracking under the pressure of their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. So many, in fact, that her supplies were running low. Snape rolled his eyes. His supplies were running low too, especially patience, a rare ingredient indeed. What did he care what those nitwits got up to? The Draught would not serve them during the examinations. They needed to learn how to cope on their own, lest they cease to function without the substance. Snape had seen it claim many of his lessers, as well as some of his most promising students. Penny Haywood, he remembered, seemed intent on brewing it the year before, but someone had talked her out of it. Ribeiro, most likely. Haywood had confided to him that she had brewed a Forgetfulness Potion years earlier to relieve her of some inconsequential trauma, and he had talked her out of that, too.

Snape sighed. Why must it always come back to Ribeiro? The boy had a hand at nearly everything that happened in Hogwarts, and sometimes out of Hogwarts as well. How despicable it had been to hear his name in Knockturn Alley the other day. Sometime last year, he had apparently taken down one of the less savoury sorts that dwelled there in a duel, and attracted quite a crowd while at it. The witch in question had heard of Patricia Rakepick's most unfortunate departure from Hogwarts, and was vowing revenge now that Ribeiro no longer had his bodyguard. Snape discreetly put an end to that. If only she had vowed revenge on Rakepick herself, he needn't have bothered, but those cravens only preyed on the weak.

Not that Ribeiro was weak, he begrudgingly admitted. His exploits against the Hungarian Horntail guarding the Portrait Vault had been particularly... impressive. Whether the beast was enchanted to resist the Unforgivable Curses he did not know, but Ribeiro had defeated it when Patricia Rakepick could not, and that gave Severus no small measure of joy. Perhaps even an ounce of pride at his student. No, not an ounce, he decided, giving his potion the last necessary stir. A silver teaspoonful at most.

"Professor Snape!" an all too familiar voice called out from behind him. Snape groaned in annoyance. Clearly his student had placed a Taboo on his name, and would appear whenever spoken of.

"What is it, Ribeiro?" he asked icily, punctuating each word so as to make it crystal clear that he was not pleased to be interrupted, although in truth he had just finished the potion.

"We need your help, Professor," Ribeiro replied cheerfully, seemingly ignorant of his displeasure. That was another one of Ribeiro's infuriating traits. No amount of scorn could put him down, nor make it clear he was unwanted. Severus could not even claim that he could get nothing into the boy's thick skull, because as he had proven repeatedly, Ribeiro was most adequate at following instructions, unless said instructions were to leave.

Defeated, at least for the moment, he turned to look at Ribeiro, perhaps even send a disapproving glare at his undoubtedly smiling face and hopeful green eyes, only to find, instead, a diminutive figure hiding behind him, and holding quite firmly to his hand. Severus raised an eyebrow, and in response Ribeiro ushered the figure, a boy, forward. One of his own first years, Severus realised. Donald... something, he couldn't remember, it was too early in the year for him to have memorised every student. His eyes were that of a frightened rodent, but underneath them Severus noticed the unmistakable signs of excessive crying.

"Donny here is being bullied, sir," said Ribeiro. The fact that he squeezed the boy's shoulder reassuringly did not go unnoticed, but Snape decided to ignore the childish display of affection.

"By whom?" he demanded.

"His dormmates, sir," Ribeiro supplied.

Snape's nostrils flared at this. "I should think, Ribeiro, that Mister"—he discreetly looked at the attendance sheet, which was mercifully nearby—"Cartwright is perfectly capable of answering questions on his own. _By whom?_ "

"Pucey and the others, Professor!" the boy squeaked.

Severus frowned. Adrian Pucey was a promising lad. He was proving adequate at most subjects, and Rolanda had reported he had a talent for flying. The same could not be said of Donald Cartwright, who excelled only in being completely unremarkable. Still, he would tolerate no animals in his house.

"What did Mr. Pucey do to you, Cartwright?" he asked.

Cartwright wilted under his glare, but nevertheless answered:

"H-He pushes me around and calls me names. He trips me in the shower, and makes me use his towels. They all do!" His voice was growing quite forceful. Behind him, Ribeiro was wearing a horrified expression, and Snape himself was having trouble maintaining his neutral, vaguely displeased visage. "They hide my clothes so the House Elves can't find them for laundry," he continued, "and make me wear them dirty to class. They hit me with a curse that gave me nasty cold once, and they locked me out of the dormitory in my pants last week, and hexed my bed, and, and, and I don't like it, Professor!"

By the end of his spiel, Cartwright was panting and on the verge of years. Understandable. No, laudable. Ribeiro was crying himself, which was enough to make Severus sick to the stomach. He would make sure to award Cartwright a few points for maintaining his composure.

"Why did you not come to me sooner, Mr. Cartwright?" Severus asked, though he knew the answer, he knew every possible answer to that question, and perhaps it wasn't Ribeiro's emotional outburst that was making him sick.

When Cartwright did not respond, Ribeiro stepped forward, wiping his eyes. "I found him in the third floor bathroom, Professor," he said. "His pants and trousers had been shoved in the toilet, and they stole his wand and robes. They..." He seemed to have something stuck in his throat. Releasing the boy's hand for a moment, Ribeiro stepped forward and whispered, "They undressed him themselves. I saw it, with my... with my ability. It was an accident, I didn't mean to, but he was hurt. He still is."

Unacceptable. In his own house? This was _unacceptable—_

* * *

Professor Snape stormed out of the classroom with a fury Andrew hadn't seen in all his five years at Hogwarts, not even once, not even that one time he'd mentioned the Marauders to him. He suspected no one had ever seen it, and hoped no one would ever need to see it again. Like a man possessed he'd bellowed that no one was to enter his classroom and dashed towards the Slytherin common room, causing frightened screams whenever he passed. They were in for it now, those bullies.

Andrew decided that he ought to close the door before anyone came peeping, so he did that, then walked over to Donny.

"You alright, mate?" he asked, again crouching to meet his eyes, although it was a little hard, seeing as his face was downcast.

"I think so." His voice was a little weird, too, but Andrew pretended not to notice.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he said, a tad uncertain. "No, I just want to lie down."

"I'm going to teach you a few charms later, so you can defend yourself," said Andrew, "but for now, can you promise to keep a secret?"

Donny nodded numbly. That wasn't much of a promise, but it would have to do. Andrew got up and made a show of stretching and pacing around the room. He walked over to where Professor Snape had been brewing his potion (a Draught of Peace by the looks of it, right nasty potion that one), and then—

"Heads up!" he shouted before jumping towards Donny, who yelped in surprise.

The transformation was over in a second, and when Donny looked up, there was a large, brown dog right on top of him.

Andrew retained his intelligence while in his Animagus form. His feelings, on the other hand, were much simpler. He enjoyed the tingly sensation his transformation provided, and felt much warmer with a coat of fur instead of school robes. He saw a boy staring up at him, totally nonplussed. The boy was very sad, he knew, so he wanted to make him happy. The easiest way to do that, he thought, was to slobber all over his face. Yes, that seemed quite sensible. Andrew did just that, and the giggles that filled the air were music to his ears. The boy was so happy now! Andrew was happy too. He climbed down from the boy's chest and ran around a little bit, wanting the boy to chase him, and he did. They played, Andrew nibbled at his pants, ran between his legs, nearly knocked over a shelf full of important ingredients, some of them tasty looking, then nuzzled against the boy's leg. As a reward, he received a very warm hug. The boy rubbed under his chin, and all over his belly until it tickled. Andrew slobbered him some more, and they played and played and played until the boy was exhausted.

Andrew settled in a comfortable spot on the floor and, with a most human nod, invited the boy to lay his head on him.

Once they were all cosied up, the boy said, "I don't know that he will fix anything, but you were right, Professor Snape isn't evil," and then fell into a very peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. If you got this far, thank you very much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I have a very, very long thread on Twitter about Andy's adventures on Hogwarts Mystery, so if you're interested in that sort of thing, search for my nickname with the #HPHM tag. Currently the game is on a weird Quidditch kick that I don't really enjoy, but when they put out more story, there should be an extra chapter or two here as well, so please look forward to it.


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